Spam, Bacon, Sausage and Spam | An Imaginary Farmer

Spam, Bacon, Sausage and Spam

We bought four weaner pigs today, and according to long-standing tradition (long-standing being three years) we named them Spam, Bacon, Sausage, and Spam. Since we moved here we have raised some pigs each year. We raise a couple pigs for our family and for friends that would like a pig that is raised on a local farm, fed good food and that is treated humanely. This year in addition to the pigs for our family we are raising one for my friend Mike and one for my friend Steve.

When I was young I helped raise rabbits for food. I would raise the rabbits and my dad would do the rest. I don’t remember it being a big deal to me but I suspect that it was hard for my sister and brother. When we started raising animals, here at our little farm, that would eventually be harvested for food we were a little worried about how the kids would handle it and if it would bother them. From that worry we gave the animals names that would make it clear what our intention was and help them not become attached and make it a pet. That worry and a little Monty Python and the pigs got their names, the same names they get each year.

Our first spring here we bought some chickens. We bought some for laying and we bought some that would be good for meat. By the end of the summer it was time to harvest the meat birds and so I got twine, the axe and the log stump and went out behind the barn with the birds and told the girls to stay away. Their curiosity was to much for them though and I finally had to give in and let them see. A week or so later we were eating chicken for dinner and the girls asked if this was our chicken, and we told them that is was not one of ours and they responded with an “Awwwwwwww” of disappointment. We have not been as worried about them becoming too attached to the non pets since then.

As I have mentioned in other posts, our garden has a large amount of clay soil in it. In an attempt to help our garden soil Sean and I built a pen out of pallets in our garden area. We are hoping that as the pigs root it the garden area that we are experimenting with they will till the area really well, eat all the grass and weed roots, spread compost about and also fertilize the area. If the experiment works well we will be able to move the pen to expand the garden next year. I am excited to see if this idea works.

Tags: chickens, garden, kids, pigs, rabbits

3 thoughts on “Spam, Bacon, Sausage and Spam”

Thanks, Mike!

Hi, Mike. I’m a friend of your Aunt Pat. She recently told me about your blog, and I love it! It reminds me of my years growing up on a sheep farm in Western New York (Perrysburg). Oh, the stories I could tell you.

Our family traded with the Millers, a local Amish family, to get pigs two years in a row. The first year, I named them Wilbur (ref: Charlotte’s Web) and Orville (ref: the Wright Brothers; it just goes with Wilbur). The second year my dad picked the names, but there’s a story behind that.

To keep the pigs from tumbling around the bed of Dad’s pickup truck on the way home, Mr. Miller secured each one in burlap feed bag. He carefully and tightly knotted the tops of the bags and gently placed them in the truck. Something about being in cocoons calmed the pigs, and they quietly sat in the truck bed. But by the time Dad pulled into the barnyard thirty minutes later, one of the pigs had miraculously escaped his bag. Amazed and laughing, my dad christened him Houdini. After a little thought, it made sense to call his partner Whodunit.

I don’t recall ever having a problem with eating my barnyard friends. My brother and I used to take great delight in torturing our dinner guests with comments like, “So, Mom. Who are we eating tonight? Wilbur or Orville?” And when it was time to take our lambs (the orphans who we bottlefed with hand-mixed formula) to the slaughterhouse, we always made my dad promise to bring the meat from our favorite lambs home to our freezer. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else eating them. I’ve always wondered if I was a little twisted, but it sounds like your kids are having a similar experience. I think it’s just part of growing up on a farm. Living close to the land, you gain a deeper appreciation for the circle of life. (That, or your kids are just as twisted as I am. Hee, hee.)

Keep up all the great work on your farm. I’m a little envious. I keep telling my husband (a suburban boy through and through) that someday I will require a few acres of land to grow a big garden and keep some chickens and a sheep or two.

Best wishes-
Rainey Christofferson

Mike on November 11, 2009 at 8:19 am said:

I agree with you! Living closer to the land gives you a much deeper appreciation for life. We make decisions differently because of it. We try to have less waste, and there is more caring and feeling of responsibility to our animals because of the stewardship that we have. I sometimes wonder how it is that our society has come to the point where it is disgusted to think that the food we are eating, was not too long ago, the healthy animal that we spent time raising. A separation from the land probably is the cause.

Steve on September 29, 2009 at 1:53 pm said:

Thanks, Mike!
Rainey on November 10, 2009 at 3:00 pm said:

Hi, Mike. I’m a friend of your Aunt Pat. She recently told me about your blog, and I love it! It reminds me of my years growing up on a sheep farm in Western New York (Perrysburg). Oh, the stories I could tell you.

Our family traded with the Millers, a local Amish family, to get pigs two years in a row. The first year, I named them Wilbur (ref: Charlotte’s Web) and Orville (ref: the Wright Brothers; it just goes with Wilbur). The second year my dad picked the names, but there’s a story behind that.

To keep the pigs from tumbling around the bed of Dad’s pickup truck on the way home, Mr. Miller secured each one in burlap feed bag. He carefully and tightly knotted the tops of the bags and gently placed them in the truck. Something about being in cocoons calmed the pigs, and they quietly sat in the truck bed. But by the time Dad pulled into the barnyard thirty minutes later, one of the pigs had miraculously escaped his bag. Amazed and laughing, my dad christened him Houdini. After a little thought, it made sense to call his partner Whodunit.

I don’t recall ever having a problem with eating my barnyard friends. My brother and I used to take great delight in torturing our dinner guests with comments like, “So, Mom. Who are we eating tonight? Wilbur or Orville?” And when it was time to take our lambs (the orphans who we bottlefed with hand-mixed formula) to the slaughterhouse, we always made my dad promise to bring the meat from our favorite lambs home to our freezer. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else eating them. I’ve always wondered if I was a little twisted, but it sounds like your kids are having a similar experience. I think it’s just part of growing up on a farm. Living close to the land, you gain a deeper appreciation for the circle of life. (That, or your kids are just as twisted as I am. Hee, hee.)

Keep up all the great work on your farm. I’m a little envious. I keep telling my husband (a suburban boy through and through) that someday I will require a few acres of land to grow a big garden and keep some chickens and a sheep or two.

Best wishes-
Rainey Christofferson
- Mike on November 11, 2009 at 8:19 am said:
  
  I agree with you! Living closer to the land gives you a much deeper appreciation for life. We make decisions differently because of it. We try to have less waste, and there is more caring and feeling of responsibility to our animals because of the stewardship that we have. I sometimes wonder how it is that our society has come to the point where it is disgusted to think that the food we are eating, was not too long ago, the healthy animal that we spent time raising. A separation from the land probably is the cause.